


a blonde journey

by electraDandelion



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottle Blond Atsumu, Canon Compliant, Hair, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Miya Atsumu-centric, Post-Time Skip, blonde is a nicer word than blond dont @ me, disaster gay Atsumu Miya, the struggles of blonde maintence, this wasn’t supposed to get horny but what can I say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28687131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electraDandelion/pseuds/electraDandelion
Summary: This fic is what the title says: Atsumu Miya's gay disaster journey to figuring out his own hair.+++“I look like a moldy lemon!!! Has my hair always been this yellow?! Was no one gonna tell me I looked like a washed out school bus?!”+++His journey finally comes to a head when Sakusa Kiyoomi joins the MSBY Black Jackals, and offers to teach Atsumu how to style his hair.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 305
Collections: ~SakuAtsu~





	a blonde journey

**Author's Note:**

> From one prissy blonde to another... hair is a struggle man.

# a blonde journey

* * *

Being blond became a part of Atsumu’s identity nearly as much as being a twin had been from the moment he first bleached his hair. 

At the start of high school, Atsumu and Osamu each dyed their hair in order to _finally_ be rid of how often people confused them for each other. Of course, it only stopped the phenomenon by like half — but their friends and classmates hardly ever confused them anymore, so it was still a worthwhile decision. Even after dealing with their mom grounding them both for a week after “not considering the consequences of their actions” or asking her first. 

Plus, neither of them would admit it to the other, but it was nice having something that was their own and didn’t also belong to their twin. 

Another thing that Atsumu would never admit, is that he was kind of jealous of Osamu’s hair. 

Not that he didn’t like being blonde; Atsumu honestly loved having light hair, and it made him feel stupidly like some sort of idol. But... he did secretly think the weird, cool-toned ash grey-taupe really suited Osamu. It made him look dark and mysterious in a way that Atsumu had never seen his stupid younger brother before, but it somehow fit. Plus, while it was different enough to be easily distinguishable in a crowd of dark brown and black, it wasn’t an attention grabbing eyesore like Atsumu’s own blond. 

And that was the thing — even though Atsumu had gotten pretty handy with bleach after 3 years of keeping up his own hair color, he couldn’t really get the hang of it not looking... yellow. He knew it didn’t look _bad_ , and he had never had any complaints from his many admirers, but Atsumu wasn’t really one for color like that... 

But as he fell deeper in love with volleyball, Atsumu found less and less time to focus on any more drastic hair changes. He had found something that worked for him and became a signature just like his own dual-wielded serves, so why change it? 

That was until he got the call after graduation. 

+++

Atsumu had been a little disappointed after not being selected for the 2016 Japan Olympic team, (Osamu definitely had a different definition of “a little”), but it was no skin off his teeth. As long as he stayed healthy, volleyball players had long careers well into their 30s — if they were good enough to keep their spot on the court. Despite the disappointment he held close to his chest, Atsumu had no doubt that after he turned pro, anyone who wanted to challenge him would have to pry his starting position out of his cold dead hands when the time came he was too old and decrepit to keep up with his teammates. 

That’s why when he got the call from Samson Foster, Rio was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. He had been _scouted_ by a Division 1 V-League team. 

The train ride to Sendai was long, but Atsumu could hardly care as he freely used all his data to watch hour after hour of game footage of the Black Jackals — his _team_. Atsumu wanted to get to know each and every one of his spikers and figure out what kind of tosses they would crave even before he stepped onto the court with them for the first time.

His position as setter wasn’t a done deal — no, it was far from it. But it was a promise that if the team liked what they saw when they all practiced together... Atsumu would be a professional volleyball player. 

He had been approached by a few university coaches early into his third year of high school and after the Interhigh. They all said how they would love to have a setter like him playing for their team, and how he could come tour their facilities — if he thought he could pass the entrance exams. 

Not that Atsumu was dumb or anything, but he had known for a long time that university wasn’t gonna be his lot in life. So it made his decision to go straight into the V-League an easy one. 

The Black Jackals weren’t what Atsumu would call a powerhouse. _Yet_. They certainly weren’t the Adlers or the Red Falcons, but... after watching the footage and seeing the guys on the court... Atsumu knew there was something there. Even just recently, with the addition of Bokuto Koutarou, the team already seemed to be leveling up astonishingly quickly. 

Atsumu could only imagine how far he could take the team if he were at the helm, weaponizing a cannon like Oliver Barnes to his advantage. The setter had never strayed away from a challenge, and he could already feel his tongue poking out of his slyly curled lips in anticipation. 

His tryout itself went off without a hitch. Atsumu found a rhythm with the guys almost instantaneously. For a team that had a lot to offer in terms of offense and raw power, they were all surprisingly well rounded. It shouldn’t have been surprising considering it was a pro team, but still. The thought of playing with these volleyball hungry monsters lit up Atsumu from the inside in a way he hadn’t felt since his first service ace he had gotten with his jump-floater. 

Everything was lining up so perfectly in ways Atsumu could never have asked for and he could quite nearly taste the victory he had been craving for years. Until everything came crashing down. 

He got his uniform and his official gear. 

* * *

The first time Atsumu tried on his team jacket in the locker room, the setter nearly shrieked. (His new teammates would laugh for weeks to come about the pathetic wail that did _not_ come from Atsumu when he saw himself in the mirror.) 

“I look like a moldy lemon!!! Has my hair always been this yellow?! Was no one gonna tell me I looked like a washed out school bus?!” 

“Hey hey hey Tsum-Tsum! don't worry, I think you look great!” Bokuto exclaimed with a wind knocking hit to Atsumu’s back which was probably _meant_ to be comforting. “C’mon, the jackets aren’t thaaaat bad! I mean, look at how cool I look!” Bokuto exclaimed as he posed and flexed with all the confidence in the world to show off his own matching jacket 

Atsumu couldn’t deny that Bokuto didn’t look bad in the yellow, but that was probably mainly due to the fact that his own hair was black and white — not _yellow_ like Atsumu had been shocked to learn his own was today. 

“Bokkun, aren’t these the same colors as your high school…?” 

“Yeah! But at Fukurodani we never had any cool gold gear! All our stuff was black and white and _boring_ except for a stripe or two! But these jackets are so cool! Aren’t these jackets cool Tsum-Tsum?!?” 

All Atsumu could do was sigh because he was obviously not going to get any sympathy from _that_ one. 

Atsumu still couldn’t believe his hair was the exact same color as the Black Jackals “gold” jacket. Why did they even have “gold” gear in the first place?! The color _black_ was in their team name for cryin out loud! He had gotten so used to wearing black in high school, and had obviously taken _that_ for granted since black went with everything. Even Inarizaki’s maroon training gear was nice — it was all certainly better than Omi-kun’s lemon-lime jerseys from Itachiyama... The blond allowed himself to laugh at the memory of how uncomfortable Kiyoomi always looked whenever he had seen him in his school gear. Or in anything that wasn’t plain black or a surgical mask, if he was being honest.

Thinking back to high school uniforms, Atsumu was suddenly reminded of a bright orange cloud of intense sunshine named Hinata Shouyou. He found himself unwittenly thinking back to his promise that he would set for the hort spiker one day. Atsumu couldn't help but wonder if being on the Jackals would take him one step closer to fulfilling that promise... 

That’s when Atsumu realized what looking in the mirror in head to toe yellow reminded him of. He looked just like Hinata had in that godawful Karasuno orange during their match two years ago... and even though he had thought the orange was somehow cute on the little bouncing tangerine, it was certainly not a look Atsumu was trying to emulate. It was then and there that Atsumu decided it was time to change his hair. 

* * *

A few days after that decisive scene in the locker room, one of the middle blockers — Adriah Tomas — came up to him after practice. When Atsumu looked up to greet the older man, he gently shoved a bottle into his hands, which Atsumu could only assume was a sports drink of some sort. 

“You do your own hair?” The other man asked him in broken japanese. 

Something about the question put Atsumu on edge, because _‘so what I do my own hair, ya got something to say about that —’_ before he quickly realized the awkward phrasing of the question was probably due to the other man’s comprehension of the Japanese language, rather than any dig he could have made at his expense.

The setter gave a hesitant nod before looking down at the bottle the man had handed him. It was decisively not any sort of energy drink he had ever seen. With a squint, he quickly recognized the English word “shampoo” written on the side of the purple plastic bottle. Atsumu just looked back up at the dark haired man even more confused even more confuse than he had been before. 

“My wife. She’s blonde like you, and uses this.” Adriah said before fumbling around for his phone to pull up a picture. On the screen was a very pretty, tall (but still at least a head shorter than a 6’7” volleyball player) blonde foreigner. He raised an eyebrow before giving his teammate a good natured grin and thumbs up. 

Adriah chuckled and ruffled the younger man’s hair. “You don’t like yellow, no? Shampoo helps.” 

Atsumu blinked up at the man confused, because he didn’t know how a shampoo would make his hair not yellow, but then again, his wife _did_ have very pretty light hair.... With a curt bow, Atsumu excused himself to leave the gym for the night, still holding the bottle in his hands. 

_‘Well... it was getting time to touch up my hair anyway... maybe I’ll give it a shot…’_

The next free weekend he had from training, Atsumu went in with the bleach. He probably wasn’t using the stuff _correctly,_ and if he recorded the process, would probably end up on some sort of “Hairdresser reacts” horror compilation, but Atsumu didn’t really care as long as it got the job done. He had it done it so many times by now since bleaching his hair for the first time, that he no longer used nearly as much are and precision with the chemical as he had the first few times he had used it on his head. It was still always nervewracking, but as long as he didn’t get too close to his scalp (and it’s not like Atsumu minded the darker look to his undercut anyway), he had never had any issues. The only thing preventing him from going lighter in the past had been the horror of turning his hair _bright_ yellow the first time he had gone way too light. But if the weird shampoo Adriah had given him could get rid of the yellow... 

A dark purple, almost blue, shimmery liquid came out of the bottle — and it _terrified_ Atsumu. He was ready to bleach his hair that morning — not dye it a color! Especially not _purple_! 

But the longer he stared at it already pooled in his palm, and the more he thought of how yellow his hair always turned after he washed out the bleach... Atsumu said fuck it and started lathering it up in his hair. If this was some sort of prank or initiation as the new guy, at least Atsumu could say he was all in for his team. Even if that meant having purple hair. (And he definitely wouldn’t cry if his hair turned purple. Nope, he would _not_ pull a Howl.)

+

“Holy shit.” was all Atsumu could say when he stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror.

His hair _definitely_ was not yellow anymore. It was actually a little on the grey side, maybe even blue tinted? Or was that just his bathroom light…? But it was light and it was _blond_. It wasn’t yellow or god forbid orange like that one time... And as he used his blow dryer, it somehow only seemed to get lighter and decisively more blond as it dried. 

* * *

It wasn’t until the two years later, when Sakusa Kiyoomi had joined their team, that Atsumu’s hair transformation was complete. 

“Omi-kun, how is yer hair always so perfect???? That’s seriously not fair, especially after breaking a helluva sweat during a game... Ya can’t just go around being some hot shot mysterious ace with two beauty marks and freakishly flexible wrists _and_ perfect hair....!” Atsumu whined as they headed to the locker rooms after their match. 

Atsumu had always been treated like an idol when he was in high school, so the rude awakening of having Sakusa _legitimately_ look like he could step on stage as a member of a kpop band was just another blow to his ego. The curly haired man had always had nice hair that Atsumu had secretly admired during national training camps, but he had obviously further perfected his hair since adulthood. It seriously wasn’t fair, when Atsumu could barely get his hair to listen to him and stay parted on the correct side on a good day...

Sakusa just gave him a withering look with piercing eyes that were highlighted next to the mask he donned immediately after stepping off the court. Surprisingly, instead of ignoring him or making some sort of snarky comment, the spiker responded with a sigh. 

“What do you use for your hair, Miya?” 

“My hair? I, uh… blow dry it after I shower..?” 

“... and that’s it...?” Sakusa responded after a long pause that he obviously expected to be filled with something more from the setter. 

“Well yea, the hell else am I s’posed to do to it? Use a goddamned curling iron or sumthin?!” Atsumu didn’t know what the hell Sakusa thought he was missing, but there was only so much he could do with his hair being as short as it was... 

Sakusa just sighed. “Well that explains why your hair always looks like a dry, limp stack of hay.” 

“Hey! Take that back Omi-kun!” 

All Sakusa did in response was narrow his eyes at him, which, when it’s all you can really see of his face, can be pretty intimidating. Atsumu may have known Kiyoomi better than any of the other Jackals, but he still had a feeling that if he made one wrong move, the curly haired man would make him regret it. 

He couldn’t much tell behind the mask if Sakusa was staring at him in disbelief, cursing him out under his breath, or smirking at him. God, Atsumu hoped he was smirking, because that at least meant he was entertaining, and that Kiyoomi _probably_ didn’t think he was a complete idiot. Plus, Omi smirking was probably incredibly hot — 

Atsumu immediately lost that train of thought as the man who hated to touch or be touched reached forward to put a hand in his hair. If his brain had any cells left that weren’t already dedicated to volleyball, those remaining probably would have short circuited. 

Normally, Atsumu didn’t notice that Sakusa was a few centimeters taller than him, at least aside from the way he needed to adjust his tosses accordingly. But being so close in the other man’s space made it impossible to ignore.

With a small huff that Atsumu could almost believe was a laugh, the spiker removed his hand from where it was feeling his hair before turning away. 

“Well, at least you don’t use 2 in 1...” 

“What kind of gay man do ya take me for Omi-kun?!” Atsumu half-laughed, half yelled offendedly. 

“An athlete.” The haunted look in Sakusa’s face spoke volumes as he glared off in the direction of one Bokuto Koutarou. 

The two stood there, a bit farther apart than they had been before, but neither went any further into a state of undress, as they had gone into the locker room with the intention of doing. The silence lasted almost until it was nearly stifling, until the masked man sighed and pointed towards the showers with his chin.

“Come on, don’t make me regret this.” 

Atsumu blinked once, twice, three times before quickly following the other man. Was this finally the locker room scene of his gay little dreams? Probably not, but whatever it was, Atsumu wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or one to try and get on Kiyoomi’s bad side. Consequently, Atsumu surprised even himself at how comfortable he was with whatever the hell the other man wanted. Heading into the showers with Sakusa Kiyoomi was _not_ how he expected today's practice match to end. 

Not much was said between the two as they entered the showers separately, and both seemed content to stay as _far_ apart as physically possible. Despite being an absolute idiot most of the time, Atsumu was not one to try and sneak a peek at his teammates naked in the showers. He wasn’t that desperate, certainly not that depraved, and he valued their trust more than anything he could get out of it. It’s not like he wanted to or anything — nope, definitely not. 

But he did have to remind himself of that more than once as he found his mind drifting back to the ever present cloud of tension that came with being in the showers at the same time as _Sakusa Kiyoomi._

After a long day of practice, Atsumu sure as hell needed a shower. But what he didn’t account for, was the weird nervousness flowing through his veins. Whether it was because he was worried Sakusa would never walk within a six-foot radius of him again if he didn’t find his cleaning satisfactory, or if it was the intrusive memory of feeling Sakusa willingly get within his personal space mere moments ago, Atsumu wasn’t sure. Either way, he tried his best to block out the resonating “what if” that hung in the air with the promise of whatever the hell Sakusa had meant by “don’t make me regret this” that was awaiting him after the shower. 

Only when Sakusa himself left the showers, did Atsumu feel justified in saying he was clean enough. He still held back a few moments to give the rather private man some space to dry and dress himself without being crowded or watched. Not that Atsumu would have _watched_ or anything, but… 

With a pair of dark grey sweatpants hanging off his hips and a towel hanging over his head and his bare shoulders, Atsumu finally approached Sakusa. The man seemed to have set up shop at the counter by the mirror. Even though the blond couldn’t see all that was laid out on the counter, the sheer magnitude of brushes and tins and things _plugged into the wall_ left Atsumu reeling. But even more so, so did the sight of a still semi-damp, maskless Sakusa. 

Kiyoomi hadn’t put a shirt on yet either, and his own shifty fox eyes couldn’t help but take in the swath of pale, toned skin under the fluorescent lights. His lack of clothes was probably primarily due to the state of his dark hair, where his curls were dripping in places. Still, Atsumu couldn’t help but thank every god he had never prayed to for giving him this gift.

Atsumu didn’t think he had ever seen his hair _wet_ before. Damp? Sure, as often happened because of Sakusa’s arch nemesis: sweat. But Atsumu had never seen his hair without some sort of volume or definition to his curls. They were definitely still _there,_ but more closely resembled waves; and his hair definitely hung further down into his face than Atsumu had come to expect.

Feeling his presence, Sakusa turned around to face the blond. Leaning against the counter, the dark-haired man gave Atsumu a thorough once over, before coming to some determination that yes: he was clean enough to interact with. That’s when he turned to grab something from behind him that made Atsumu’s stomach drop and his eyes go wide.

“Do you know what this is?”

Atsumu gulped as his eyes took in the intimidating contraption that his mind could _only_ assume was some sort of bdsm contraption. He quickly shook his head at the imagery of Sakusa cornering him in the bathroom holding something like _that_ before giving it a closer and more serious inspection.

“Uh… a… hair dryer…?”

Sakusa surveyed him curiously for a moment, and god, Atsumu really hoped the man could not read his mind as the same intrusive thoughts _wouldn’t leave._

“This is a diffuser.” The other man explained as he pointed to the large satellite dish looking thing hanging off of the hair dryer that was covered in weird nubs. “I use this on my hair.”

Atsumu dumbly nodded, vaguely understanding that there had to be some purpose to the device, but his brain cell couldn’t comprehend the reason to block a hair dryer when the whole idea was for it to blow hot hair out of the end. But then again, Sakusa’s hair looked nothing like the fried and dried mess that was Atsumu’s, so he obviously knew _something_ that he didn’t. 

Probably reading his mind again, Sakusa seemed to sense Atsumu’s confusion and proceeded to turn back to the mirror before setting the dryer back down. Instead, he grabbed a large jar and scooped a large amount of a foam looking substance. He didn’t say as much, but it seemed like Atsumu was about to get a hands-on lesson on how the hell Sakusa Kiyoomi always looked so perfect. Atsumu had always assumed that Sakusa’s hair was just _naturally_ like that, but he should have assumed that someone as detail oriented as the spiker would find a way to enhance his natural beauty. Damn it, why the hell hadn’t Atsumu brought anything to take notes with?!

For a minute or so, Sakusa massaged the cream into his hair, focusing away from the shorter sides and instead on the part that was normally (apparently _styled_ ) curly. When he was satisfied with the product distribution, he then switched to an odd sort of scrunching motion before picking up the diffuser again. 

Apparently not needing to look in the mirror to use it, Sakusa turned back to face Atsumu, and once again casually leaned against the counter again. When he switched on the blow dryer, the familiar _whirring_ noise was more muted than Atsumu would have expected, even though it was still deafeningly loud in the echoing bathroom. He also hadn’t expected Sakusa to just… _watch_ him _,_ especially not like that. The intense but relaxed stare of his appraising dark eyes made Atsumu feel weird things in his stomach, and he knew that if he wasn’t paying close enough attention to satisfy Sakusa, he would probably feel the brunt of his wrath.

To Atsumu’s surprise, instead of quickly passing it over and through his hair, or like Atsumu normally did — turning his hair upside down and fluffing it through to save time — Sakusa kept the hair dryer in nearly the same spot the entire time he used it. There was a small rocking motion to his wrist that reminded Atsumu of how he had applied the hair product, but other than that, he just held the diffuser into the tuft of increasingly curly and fluffy hair that hung over the side of Sakusa’s head. 

It was fascinating watching the wet, limp, wavy cascade of hair transform into Sakusa’s signature voluminous waterfall of ringlets. Atsumu couldn’t help the way he knew his face lit up like it did whenever he saw something cool which he wanted to copy. The spiker seemed in a more generous mood than normal, so he didn’t comment on it or laugh.

When the man seemed satisfied with how dry his hair was, he flipped the switch off and a warm but resonating silence filled the room. Sakusa then pumped some clear sort of liquid (maybe an oil?) onto his fingers, and gently brushed them through his curls. The tighter hair pattern loosened with the product and motion, and Atsumu watched in awe as the dark hair gained an envy inducing shine. 

Damn, Atsumu had always assumed that you either _have_ shiny hair or you don’t, because his and Osamu’s hair had always been so dull no matter how much conditioner they used… but watching Sakusa prove that theory wrong was like watching the perfect rally-breaking receive and spike combo.

After a good amount of fluffing and fussing and a final once over of himself in the mirror, Sakusa turned back toward him. Atsumu felt his breath involuntarily evacuate itself from his chest when faced with a fresh-faced, perfectly coiffed, _smiling_ Sakusa. It wasn’t a full smile by any means, but the expression the other man wore was easy, comfortable and relaxed. And the corners of his lips were definitely curled up. 

“Now let’s see what we can do with yours.”

Atsumu swallowed, before nodding and moving toward the counter and into Sakusa’s space.

Wordlessly, Sakusa reached for some sort of cream from a bottle with a little pump, before rubbing it into his hands and moving to stand behind Atsumu. With no warning, he began moving his hands through Atsumu’s hair to graciously coat the strands with the cream. At the first firm touch, Atsumu stiffened, not having expected the lack of hesitation from the other man. Which, upon further introspection, was definitely due to Atsumu’s own shot nerves and gay panic. Sakusa had never been one to hesitate. He had strong conviction and was always flexible and adaptable, so _of course_ he would easily take charge here as well. Another thing that was strong was the feeling of his _hands_ — 

A shudder ran through Atsumu involuntarily as he tried and failed to focus on anything else other than Sakusa’s pleasant and electrifying touch.

Soon thereafter, the familiar _whirring_ sound booted up behind him close to his shoulder. Even though Atsumu couldn’t see what Sakusa was doing, he could feel the movement and the heat of the device (and from the other man’s body). He couldn’t be certain, but it definitely felt like he was moving the machine far more than he had over his own head, and it almost felt he was pushing the oddly soft nubs in and through Atsumu’s hair. 

That didn’t last long before the _whirring_ noise clicked off and Atsumu could hear Sakusa suck his teeth in annoyance. Atsumu didn’t know what he found that he didn’t like, but he couldn’t think much about it before the weird shower head looking thing was suddenly dumped on the counter in front of him with no fanfare. 

“I should have known your hair wasn’t curly. I just assumed your rampant abuse from bleach and heat had hidden it.” 

Atsumu wanted to feel offended, but the ever adaptable and unflappable Sakusa didn’t leave him any time to quip back before he heard another _click._ Then the sounds of a higher pitched dryer echoed through the room again. 

The motion Sakusa was using to dry his hair this time was far more familiar to Atsumu, but it somehow felt a good deal more gentle than he had ever been with his own hair. He was surprised at how quickly the spiker had finished. Actually, as the heat fled from his scalp, Atsumu could definitely feel that his hair was still damp.

So, he turned over his shoulder with a lazy smirk and a _‘Givin’ up already, Omi-kun?’_ on his tongue. Which immediately died as he saw a greasy red substance _covering_ Sakusa’s hands. Atsumu was shocked that he didn’t squeak at the sight, because was that supposed to go _in his hair?!_ He had only just gotten used to putting something purple in his hair, but _red_?! There was no way that was going to do anything other than turn his hair orange — 

Sensing the incredulous thoughts racing through Atsumu’s head (read as: plainly written across his face), an amused smirk made its way onto Sakusa’s face.

Not even seeming to care about personal space (like seriously, who _was_ this man and what had he done with Sakusa Kiyoomi?), Sakusa stepped in closer to Atsumu, approaching him point blank rather than behind him this time. He seemed to enjoy brandishing his uncharacteristically greasy hands as a weapon based on the glint in his dark eyes, but seemed far too content to not give Atsumu any context as to _what the hell he was putting in his hair_ before moving in to run his hands through his still damp hair. 

Whatever it was felt tacky and heavy and _weird_ , and Atsumu had half a mind to complain until he looked back at Sakusa’s face.

As he kept running his hands through Atsumu’s blond locks, Sakusa was no longer wearing that smarmy smirk which previously put him on edge. Instead, the dark-haired man’s face was open. Contemplative. Almost… _soft._ Like he was enjoying what he was doing; it left Atsumu breathless.

Atsumu could feel his face unwittingly grow warm under the attention of Sakusa’s intense gaze. The other man wasn’t even looking at _him,_ but his _hair_ — so there was no excuse to feel so raw and exposed as Sakusa contemplated the hair he was gently running his fingers through. 

Ages felt like they had passed before Sakusa brushed Atsumu’s hair into a far side part and swept it off to the sides and away from his face. That’s when a determined and pleased smile quickly flashed across the pale man, before giving a small nod as he turned back to rummage around the counter.

This time, Atsumu saw what was different about the blow dryer. Instead of the “diffuser”, there was a long and flat funnel attached to the end; Atsumu assumed if the other one was to ‘diffuse’ the hot air, this was probably meant to focus and fan out the air in a more concentrated way. Then again, what did the clueless blond know?

Sakusa also grabbed a strange looking, round, bristled brush that now, with a vision in mind, he had no hesitation in rolling and pulling through Atsumu’s hair in tandem with the hair dryer. 

Atsumu didn’t know if it was because he had never stood in front of the mirror doing his hair for this long by himself before, or if it was because of the close proximity to Sakusa, or if it was a mix of the heat and the exhaustion from practice, but anticipation was itching through his veins. Along with something else that he definitely didn’t want to examine too closely.

After seemingly forever, but what was probably only a few minutes of torture, Sakusa switched off the blow dryer and put down his tools. Despite his growing anxiety and need to figure out what the hell was done to his hair, Atsumu stood patiently as Sakusa surveyed his handy work. It was a very weird feeling being this close to the other man, especially since he could feel the light breaths that left him as his eyes panned over and narrowed at whatever they saw. Atsumu couldn’t help but flush whenever Kiyoomi leaned in to run his hands through his hair again, or fuss and fluff with it, still obviously unsatisfied with his work. There was only so much of this that Atsumu’s gay lil' brain could handle — and close contact with (1) gorgeous Sakusa Kiyoomi was not on that list. 

Luckily, Sakusa seemed sufficiently occupied with his task of making him not look like a mess, so he thanked the gods that the younger man was still blissfully unaware of Atsumu’s gay panic. Or, Atsumu at least _hoped_ that he was unaware, because he didn’t know how the other man would take said advances, especially when he was already doing so much for Atsumu as it was.

Finally after a few minutes of fussing and pouting and a range of surprisingly expressive facial expressions, Sakusa at least seemed satisfied with his work enough to stop his ministrations and grab yet another product. This time, Atsumu recognized it as the same shiny liquid Kiyoomi had used on his own hair. Atsumu couldn’t lie, he was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of having _shiny hair._

The motions that Sakusa used to spread the product through Atsumu’s hair were incredibly gentle, so as to not mess up whatever he had done previously. Atsumu couldn’t help but hold his breath at how _intimate_ it all felt, especially as he was painfully reminded of those oh-so-important few inches Sakusa held over him.

But the satisfied smile that spread across Kiyoomi’s lips shook him out of his reverie and into something far more than just gay panic. The two of them were so close that Atsumu noticed how his lips were a soft pink and he had a naturally curved cupid’s bow; his lips were pleasantly plump and tantalizingly moisturized (and oh _god_ why was he thinking about them — this was such a terrible idea — when he was too goddamn close, and if he wasn’t careful he was going to do something _stupid)._

After finally releasing Atsumu’s blond locks from his hold and giving him one last appraising once over, Sakusa surprisingly did not move away from Atsumu; he had been absolutely sure that was going to be the _first_ thing Sakusa did after being _far too close_ for too damn long. Instead, Sakusa actually touched _him._ Not his hair, but _him._

He firmly turned Atsumu by the shoulder to instead face him towards the mirror. Atsumu had been so distracted by the casual yet solid touch that he hadn’t even thought to prepare himself to see his own reflection.

“ _W_ _oah._ ” 

Atsumu swallowed down the initial shock as he found his heart beating in excitement. 

He quickly moved forward with a dumb looking smile on his face and began inspecting his new hair. All he wanted to do was touch and play with it, but he also didn’t want to mess up all of Kiyoomi’s hard work. Atsumu had no idea how his hair could look so _different_ when it’s not like had he dyed or even cut his hair… 

Sakusa had kept Atsumu’s original part, the one he hadn’t changed since him and Osamu had agreed on which twin got which new look so they didn’t accidentally copy each other again. Actually, as Atsumu leaned in to get a closer look, and cautiously touched his hair, he noticed that Sakusa had actually parted his hair further to the side. The change in volume and shape of Atsumu’s hair was surprisingly drastic, and it gave him the urge to go get a more severe undercut the next time he went to actually get his hair cut. If only Osamu hadn't done just that when he cut his hair short and lopped off all of his grey hair...

Instead of the “dry, limp stack of hay” Sakusa had accused him of having before, Atsumu now had soft, shimmering waves curling gently away from his face. His hair was actually _shiny_ — that fact had Atsumu gaping and gawking at his hair for a few solid minutes. Somehow, probably by the magic that apparently was Sakusa Kiyoomi, his hair still looked _natural._ In a similar way to Kiyoomi’s own, his hair looked effortless, as if he had woken up like that. 

The way his hair _curled_ away from his face bewildered Atsumu. And it was just _staying_ like that — it’s not like there was any gel or anything in his hair, how was it doing that?! 

Atsumu reached up to more firmly touch at and explore his hair, and upon further investigation, he could say that there definitely wasn’t any hair gel in there. It wasn't hard or crunchy, and there wasn't even anweird thick film that he had expected after seeing the texture of that red product Sakusa had used liberally. His hair was still incredibly _soft_ , in a way he had never before been able to describe his hair as. In a way that he could only imagine Kiyoomi’s own hair was. _God,_ Atsumu he wanted to touch the other man’s hair now. 

Where before, Atsumu had joked about looking like a dollar store idol wannabe compared to Sakusa’s A-list idol effortlessness, Atsumu now looked like he could stand on stage with him. And he definitely couldn’t wait to stand back on the court with him. 

With a dopey smile on his face and a fast beating heart, Atsumu turned to gush at Sakusa. 

“Yer a miracle worker Omi-kun! How'd'ya even do all this?! Ya gotta teach me!”

Sakusa immediately furrowed his brows in poorly masked apprehension and something nearing anger. “What do you think I just spent the last twenty minutes doing??”

Atsumu gulped and felt his face flush, unsure of why he felt so on the spot. “I mean… ya never really explained anything… I tried to pay attention to how ya did yer hair, but ya did a lotta different stuff to mine... and ya didn’t show me in the mirror, so I couldn’t see anythin’ ya did either…”

Anyone who didn’t know Sakusa Kiyoomi as well as Atsumu probably would have missed it, but Atsumu knows each of his spikers far too well to miss it. Sakusa flinched. The apprehension he carried immediately shifted from its original projection at Atsumu toward himself, as if he hadn’t even realized it he had done that.

“It’s almost like ya just wanted an excuse to look at me or somethin.” Atsumu couldn’t stop himself from teasing, a hold over from his bad habit of always putting his foot in his mouth and incessantly talking whenever nervous. As an adult, he had prided himself on finally maturing enough to stop the damn nervous habit, but something about Sakusa just made him stupid. He was _this_ close to regretting his words and backpedaling into an apology to clarify he was _‘just kiddin’_ as the silence hung for a minute too long, before the curly haired man responded with something that made Atsumu’s heart flip. 

“And if I did?”

Atsumu’s mouth went dry. 

Sakusa turned to face Atsumu fully, face still far closer to his own than he had ever thought possible. The other man ran a just-a-lil-too-stiff-to-be-casual hand through his tuft of curls and locked eyes with Atsumu as if in challenge. A soft pink dusted the tips of the other man’s cheeks, and even though it was subtle enough that maybe Sakusa hadn’t realized he wasn’t as stone-faced as he thought… Atsumu knew it was more likely he just didn't realize he wasn’t wearing his shield of a mask. 

“Well… then I might be tempted ta ask ya for another private lesson…” Atsumu pressed his luck as he took another cautious step further into Sakusa’s private space. 

Dark eyes widened slightly before narrowing in a sexy determination as Sakusa met him with a step of his own. He paused for a moment before bringing a hand up as if to pull down his mask. Only the confident air Sakusa had been wearing immediately melted away as he stiffened in embarrassment at his realization. 

Atsumu had been right.

That only urged him on to push his luck even further. Atsumu looked up to meet Sakusa’s gaze as he gently brought his own (definitely not trembling) hand to caress Kiyoomi's smooth and inhumanly handsome face. He could feel the other man’s breath hitch, and for a moment Atsumu was sure that the other man was going to immediately shove him away because _how dare_ Atsumu touch him —

Instead, Kiyoomi shattered every expectation had as he leaned in towards Atsumu. 

This time, it was Atsumu’s breath that hitched as he felt the soft brush of his lips against his own. Holy shit this _was_ just like his guilty pleasure shojo manga fantasies. Atsumu no longer hesitated as he eagerly kiss him back, fully immersing himself in the sensation of _touching_ Kiyoomi.

The kiss itself didn’t last long before they pulled away from each other, both unable to hide the smiles forming on their panting lips. 

Yet again, when the silence ran too long, Atsumu’s idiot mouth began to fill it. 

“Oh c’mon, Omi-kun — ya can't just say _nothin_ ’ after all that—”

Atsumu shut up as he saw Kiyoomi turn to him with the same smile he had after getting in a service ace right after Atsumu had hit it into the net. And _god_ did that hungry look in his eyes make him _feel_ things after what just happened. 

“What can I say, Atsumu? You look good.”

A nervous but excited laugh fell from his lips as Atsumu couldn’t believe what was happening right now. 

“What would you rank me now, second best hair on MSBY?” The teasing question fell from Atsumu’s lips more easily, genuinely curious as to the opinion from the current reigning titleholder. 

“You don’t have a penchant for hair gel or a bowl cut, so you were already number two in my book. Inunaki was a close third before though.” Sakusa paused and looked off to the side; his expression morphed from his usual subtle smug confidence into piqued curiosity. 

“Just realized ya got a thing for light hair, Omi-kun?” Atsumu smirked.

Kiyoomi quickly turned back, only this time armed with a raised eyebrow and a smirk of his own. 

“Maybe I do.”

This time, it was Atsumu’s turn to lean in and devour the smirk from Kiyoomi’s lips, savoring every taste and curve. 

By the time the two of them broke apart again to catch their breath, Sakusa's pale, chiseled face was dusted in a delicious looking flush. Atsumu could only assume he was in a similarly debauched state after quite literally losing his mind that he was _kissing_ Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

An unfamiliar, chiming, _tender_ laugh broke Atsumu out of his reverie. 

"I can't believe we haven't done that before now..." Sakusa mused as he turned to look at Atsumu with a fond mirth. "You're pretty oblivious, aren't you?"

"What can I say, anything that's not volleyball, right?" Atsumu joked to try and ease the sting at being called out by the gorgeous man in front of him — the man who had _kissed_ him. "But how was I supposed to know that a guy as pretty as ya would be interested in a scrub like me?!"

Sakusa gave the twin an exasperated yet playful eyeroll with a light huff. "You're not a scrub, Atsumu. You're actually pretty cute, but don't let it go to your head."

That there was the shot through the heart that made Atsumu know he was an absolute goner. 

“But seriously, ya gotta show me how to do this again, cuz I’m not gonna be able to do it myself, ya know?" Atsumu asked, desperate to shift the attention from his ever warming face. "Ya can’t be the only dreamboat on the team now.”

The eye roll combined with the look of fondness on Kiyoomi’s face reminded Atsumu of a look he might give to an excitable puppy. But, Atsumu would be whatever the other man wanted if it meant he would keep looking and smiling at him like that. 

After a moment’s hesitation, both of them still reveling in the afterglow of the confirmation of their reciprocated attraction, Kiyoomi leaned back in to give one last chaste kiss to Atsumu’s slightly chapped lips before pulling away and turn back towards his supplies which were still laid out on the counter. It didn’t take the other man long to unwrap a new surgical mask from it’s plastic to cover his incredibly kissable mouth and the flush that still made a home on his cheeks. And _no,_ Atsumu did not pout about it as he turned to help Sakusa clean everything up. 

Sadly, Kiyoomi was probably right, because even if they were more than likely the only one’s left in the facility, it definitely wouldn’t have done them any good to get walked in on by a teammate. 

But Atsumu would admit that waiting wasn’t all _th_ _at_ bad. Especially not now, when he had the prospect of returning to their shared dormitory to look forward to, along with a whole new set of butterflies brewing in his belly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all, hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I had fun writing it! Come follow me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/ElectraOnigiri), I just made one for haikyuu (and specifically to have lots of feelings about post-time-skip multishipping), so come join me!
> 
> This fic wouldn’t leave my brain after I saw some pictures of Atsumu in his Black Jackals jacket, and it turned into sakuatsu and I am not sorry.
> 
> thanks for reading, I’d love to hear what y’all thought! hope y’all enjoyed, and stay safe out there.


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